


Business as Usual

by ShaneVansen



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Drama, Episode Tag, F/M, Friendship, UST, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneVansen/pseuds/ShaneVansen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The least he can do is bear witness to his mistakes. (post-ep for 6x01 <i>The Desert Rose</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Business as Usual

**Author's Note:**

> Well. First _Mentalist_ fic. Be gentle with your criticism? :p~
> 
> Unbetaed because if I don't post it before part two airs then it won't get posted at all. Apologies for any errors or generally bad storywriting. :)

At the end of the hallway there's a closed door. Tacked to the door is a note.

Jane's done this once before, but it's most certainly not something that gets easier with repetition.

He doesn't remember walking down the hallway the same way he doesn't remember actually driving to this abandoned house in the middle of a perfectly nice neighbourhood, but here he is, standing in front the door, staring uncomprehendingly at the piece of paper attached right at eye level. It's partly that he doesn't need to read it to know what it says, and mostly that all he can see is that _other_ note, the one from a decade ago, and the certainty of what he's going to find in the next room leaves him rooted to the spot.

But this isn't ten years ago, and he's not alone. The sounds of the team are coming closer from other parts of the house, and Jane makes himself reach for the doorknob. 

It's his fault, after all. The least he can do is bear witness to his mistakes.

There's a body on the floor to the right of the door, but he pays it no mind because it's not _hers_. Instead, his sight narrows in instantly on Lisbon, lying on the floor in the exact center of the room, body straight and hands folded across her stomach like a body in a casket. He can't tell if she's breathing.

The bloody smiley drawn on her face isn't a promising sign.

The noise behind him increases as the other three come through the door at the same time. There's a shocked "Oh my god" from Grace and something almost like a whimper from Rigsby. Cho mutters what Jane thinks is a curse under his breath and darts over to his boss without hesitation, his hand reaching for her neck. "She's alive," he says, and from the corner of his eye Jane sees Rigsby pull out his phone, getting an ETA on the ambulance.

He should go to her, Jane thinks, except he's not sure his legs will work long enough to get him the six steps across the room to where she lies. But then she moves, her head twisting to the side as she lets out a low groan, and suddenly he's on his knees beside her.

"Lisbon?" he murmurs, all at once desperate to see her eyes, to hear her voice. "Can you hear me?"

It takes her a couple of minutes to rouse, the sound of an ambulance's siren cutting off abruptly at the paramedics' arrival just as she's starting to come around. "Jane?" she mutters thickly. She blinks heavily, her eyes moving around the room and taking in her team. "What's going on?"

His hand is curled around her wrist, fingertips resting against her pulse; he feels her heart rate jump at the same time that she tries to sit up and knows that she's just remembered at least part of what happened. "Partridge," she says before anyone can tell her anything. "Partridge was here, he was—"

She cuts herself off as her gaze falls on the body by the door. He should say something, but what exactly that is escapes him because his brain can't process much beyond the last vestiges of fear and the fact that she's _alive_ , and then the paramedics are coming through the door, pushing him out of the way.

There's nothing visibly wrong with her – if anything can be said to be good about the situation, it's that the blood on her face isn't hers – and after a cursory exam, Lisbon insists on walking to the ambulance rather than using a gurney. Jane knows he should stay to examine the room but he sticks close to Lisbon's side instead, his hand hovering by her elbow the entire way to the ambulance in case she needs him.

"You should go to the hospital for further tests," the paramedic advises as she finishes a more thorough assessment. "At the very least, they should run blood tests to see what was used to knock you out." 

Lisbon, of course, brushes her off.

"Lisbon," he says, and the expression on his face must be giving everything away because all she does is study him for a moment before quietly promising to go to the hospital when they're finished here.

The paramedic leaves to join her partner back in the house and Jane snags a handful of alcohol wipes from the back of the ambulance, handing one to Lisbon. "You might want to wash your face," he suggests awkwardly, realizing she still has no idea that she's covered in someone else's blood.

She takes the little packet from him but doesn't open it right away. "Why?"

He can't think of a lie. "Red John. He, uh." Jane gestures vaguely at his own face. "He...."

Lisbon stares at him blankly for a moment, then pales and hurries to the side of the ambulance so she can examine herself in the mirror. "Oh, my god," she breathes, turning from pale to white, and for a second Jane's afraid she's either going to throw up or pass out. "Whose—"

"Partridge's, we think." He rips open one of the wipes he's still holding and hands it to her. She takes it but doesn't use it.

"We, um." She closes her eyes and breathes in and out. "Someone needs to take a picture and a sample. It's evidence."

"Lisbon—"

"Jane." There's an almost desperate edge to her voice. "Just get someone. Please."

He gets Cho as fast as he can, figuring the man's matter-of-fact attitude is what Lisbon most needs right now. Once Cho's done taking pictures and some swabs of the blood, he jerks his head at Jane, who follows him several steps away. "Did you see this?" Cho asks, handing over a piece of paper secured in a clear evidence bag.

It's the note from the door. Now that he doesn't have to worry about what's waiting in the next room, Jane reads it before handing it back. 

Cho takes it without moving his eyes from Jane's face. "What do you make of it?"

It's a warning, that's obvious, and a taunt as well, but couched between the lines is the implication that when all is said and done Red John is saving Lisbon for last, and both he and Jane know exactly why that is: she's the endgame. If anything is going to break him completely it will be Lisbon's death. Red John wants him to suffer, but he also wants Jane lucid enough to finish the game. There's no guarantee he'll still be entirely sane if he lives long enough to see her die at Red John's hands, so she gets to live – for now.

Jane's mouth twists up at the corners, but even he knows it isn't anywhere close to a smile. "It's nothing I didn't already know," he tells Cho, and turns to walk back to Lisbon.

Most of the blood has been wiped away, but she's still scrubbing at her face with the alcohol wipe hard enough that it has to hurt. When she pulls back to examine herself in the side view mirror, Jane notices that her hands are shaking.

"C'mere," he says, and leads her back around to the rear of the ambulance where there's more light. He makes her sit on the edge and opens another packet, one hand under her chin to hold her steady as he carefully wipes at the remaining spots of blood.

Neither of them speaks for a long while. There's noise in the background, people moving in and out of the house, reporters starting to arrive and shouting questions from behind the yellow police tape, short bursts from sirens as emergency vehicles come and go through the gathering crowds, but their little corner in the chaos is quiet until Lisbon volunteers, "I didn't see who it was."

It's with some surprise that Jane realizes he didn't even think to ask. A decade's worth of hunting down the man who killed his family, and it never even occurred to him to ask if she'd seen who Red John is.

He's been knocked even more off-balance by her attack than he realized.

The hand running the wipe along her face slows; the blood's long gone, and he pretends he wasn't just looking for an excuse to touch her for a little bit longer. "It's okay," he tells her, studying her, her eyes still closed even though he's pulled the alcohol wipe away. "We'll find him." He doesn't fail to note it's a reversal of their usual roles. He understands now her need to reassure him every time they lose a lead.

She nods, then sighs and opens her eyes. "Let's go check out the crime scene," she says. "Then I need a shower."

He ghosts his thumb along her cheek before dropping his hand from her chin. "Hospital, then shower," he reminds her.

She groans. "Jane—"

"Lisbon." She was unconscious and at Red John's mercy for who knows how long. Even if he's let her live for now, it doesn't mean he didn't do _something_ to her. "Please."

She huffs out a breath but he already knows she's capitulated. "One hour," she agrees. "If they haven't found anything after an hour, I'm leaving."

"Deal." He sticks out a hand, pleased at the hint of amusement in her expression when she rolls her eyes and returns the handshake. She's all seriousness, though, when she turns to face the house.

"Let's get in there," she says, and Jane follows along behind her, not straying more than an arm's length away the entire time they're there.

She lets him stay close.

_\--end--_

**Author's Note:**

> I live as spoiler-free an existence as I can manage, so please don't mention anything about upcoming eps. Thank you muchly!


End file.
